


dawn will never come.

by lonelyheartsclub_com



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Gen, M/M, i felt that i had to get yall back, just for your fucking war angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28863660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyheartsclub_com/pseuds/lonelyheartsclub_com
Summary: bertie wells and harold mukherjee sneak a quick kiss in the trenches. they pay the price, and boy, it isn't pretty.
Relationships: Harold Mukherjee & Bertie Wells & Alfred Cheng, Harold Mukherjee/Bertie Wells
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	dawn will never come.

**Author's Note:**

> tw// death, murder, shooting, war, period typical homophobia.

On the last day of his life, Harold Mukherjee was in the trenches with two of his closest friends. Harold was forced out into the the trenches in 1941, and he'd been faring better than he had when they first forced him out. He still refused to pick up a gun, and he couldn't care less if they beat his head in for having morals.

Bertie smiled over at Harold, and suddenly the pain in Harold's heart subsided. Harold had been in love with Bertie since the second they met, and it hurt his heart to know that this was where they had ended up. It was a miracle that Alfred and Bertie had survived as long as they had, let alone him too. 

"I'll leave you two be. You're clearly about to snog." Alfred joked, and he walked away from them, leaving them alone. There was a dingy part of the trenches where almost no men went that Bertie and Harold spent a lot of time together in, but they had never kissed, even when they were in the privacy of that space. 

Harold had never understood the concept of war. He wondered why they couldn't sit down and talk it out, but yet here Bertie and Harold were, risking their lives for a country that didn't like them. Harold was feeling bold, and he decided to kiss Bertie hard, and then he hugged him afterwards. 

"I love you, Bertie."

"I love you too, Harold. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, I just...wanted to tell-"

"Wells! Mukherjee! What on earth is going on down here, hm?" Lieutenant Williams barked, poking his head out. Harold completely withdrew himself from Bertie, but it was too late. 

They had seen Bertie and Harold together.

"Get out here!" 

Harold's heart froze. He didn't know what he was to do now. He walked out of the corner they were in, Bertie following him. They both knew what fate was going to befall them. They would be on the front lines all day, and if that did not kill them, they would be shot at dawn. It had happened to others in the trenches, Harold had seen it with his own two eyes. Being shot at dawn was a horrid, cruel practice, and Harold could not stand the English for it. If you ran from German guns, or you loved another man, you'd be shot by English guns. 

"I didn't want to have to do this to yous. I didn't want to have to do this to anyone, but it seems we have two people to shoot at dawn. Two _sodomites_ ," he announced. Harold's heart dropped. 

_No, please, please, no, Krishna, save me, don't let them hurt me-_

"Will our loved ones be notified?" Bertie asked, his voice wavering. He knew this would kill Daisy. 

"They will, but I doubt it's something they'd want to hear." the Lieutenant replied.

This would kill George as well. George was the one that Harold reached for as the British soldiers dragged him away, and he knew his brother. That memory probably stayed in his mind, the way it lingered in Harold's.

He walked away, leaving them with that knowledge that in about 3 hours, their lives would be over.

Alfred ran over, fear evident in his eyes. "Are you two serious? I thought you knew the risks!" Alfred was like that. Whenever he was scared or upset, he'd deflect with supposed anger that Harold could see through like glass.

"It was just one kiss, Alfred. How they saw us, I don't know." Bertie mumbled, tears in his eyes. Alfred hugged him tight. 

Harold muttered something in Bengali, and Alfred put a hand on his shoulder. "I know you didn't choose to be here. I'm sorry, Harold."

"It's okay. Maybe, by dying, the Hindi deities would forgive me. I've killed people-"

"You were forced. None of this is your fault, Harold." Alfred insisted. 

Tears brimmed Harold's eyes, and he wished to cry, because there were so many things he'd never see again, so many people he'd never see again. George. Alex. Hazel. Henry. Manda. Daisy. Amina.

There were so many people he'd lose, and he'd lose them all because the British didn't like people who were different.

The hours ticked by. They went by slow, but fast. Whenever Harold laughed, the memory of his upcoming death would pierce through him like a thorn in his side. Alfred reassured them he'd come and save them and they'd find some place to lay low until the war ended, and then they could go back home, but Harold knew he was talking nonsense to make them feel better. Fear was threatening to spill out of Harold as the clock ticked 00:50, and Bertie and Harold were led away. 

They were tied to stakes, and some priest came to pray for Bertie, but the firing squad was the only thing on his mind. Harold held back tears as he thought of every person that would get a letter at the news of his death, and he imagined George crying, Amanda screaming, Henry denying it, and Amina locking herself away from everyone else. He couldn't believe that this was all because of three words, eight damn letters and a kiss. They would go through Bertie and Harold's things, through their correspondence, and they'd see everything. 

Harold could feel the tears forcing their way through, and he let out a gut-wrenching sob as the priest kissed Bertie's feet and said his final amen. 

He looked over at Bertie, who's eyes were already bloodshot. He looked back at the firing squad, and he realised that this, this was the price he'd pay for love. For the Honourable Albert Wells. For his homosexuality.

Alfred ran, fast as he could. The clock hit 23:59, and he picked up the pace, and he could see 6 men, lined up. He ran closer, and the clock hit 00:00. He could see Bertie and Harold, see them right there.

And he could see as the bullets got them. 

In about 2 moments, a member of the firing squad walked up to Bertie and Harold and yelled, "They're both still alive, Sir!"

Alfred shook his head and ran closer, closer, closer, closer, almost there, _almost fucking there-_

The Lieutenant pulled out a revolver. 

Two shots.

And then all the crows flew west, and Alfred dropped to his knees.


End file.
